She is hanging on the wall, ticking away in perfect time. She tolls the half hour and the hour, warning us of passing time in perfect pitch.
Otto’s note, in his own handwriting is still in the bottom, with the wind up key resting on top of it. I will get an acid free pouch and attach it to her back – a story a life time long, written in a minute.
I walk by and touch her – she has been so beautifully re-finished that she looks astonishing. Except for her face – made of paper. We asked the clock repair shop to leave that as it was.
All faces should bear the marks of their years, the water and smoke stains remind us, she is not new and ours are not the first hours she has ticked.